


Winter Winds

by wordsliketeeth



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Growing Up, Implied Aomine Daiki/Kuroko Tetsuya, Loss of Trust, One-Sided Relationship, Self-Reflection, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29029491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsliketeeth/pseuds/wordsliketeeth
Summary: Kuroko never wanted to know what it meant to need someone, and yet, he built the friendship that changed his life on a gamble that he was guaranteed to lose. Aomine was once his light, his compass, his support; the one who he counted on to have his back even when tomorrow promised new tears. He realized, too late, that the compass needle he had been following never consented to be his guide.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Winter Winds

It's unseasonably cool for this time of year.

Kuroko has lived through a few incommodious winters when the temperatures dipped below average, where ice glistened on tree branches and less-trafficked walkways, and the passing snowfall that painted the town white was heavy and thick. He remembers a particularly bad year, one that demanded extra blankets and more layers of clothing than one was typically equipped with. His family's kotatsu was utilized more than ever during that cold and damp season. Nonetheless, like most winters in Tokyo, the snow was gone almost as quickly as it had come, taking the ice with it in the same way two disembodied beings pass through a spectral sphere.

His favorite park sits at the edge of town, surrounded by so many thick and towering trees that from the vantage point of the heavily commuted streets, no park exists at all. Similar to how the wind rules the aspects of the sky and the action of the sea, Kuroko's paucity of presence carries him through life like a feather riding the breeze. He happened upon the phantom park one day without incident; though, like many of Kuroko's mysterious discoveries, it was almost as if the park had found him, rather.

It's a tranquil place with its sylvan dells, winding paths checkered by rays of sunshine, and a substratum of rich red mulch. It's the kind of place that would make a decent garrison should one need to take cover from the indiscretions and sedateness of the inland town. The canopy of leaves that stretch almost higher than the eye can see alongside their twisted umber branches and hickory bark climb up to the likeness of the sea, not in color but immensity, as dark and deep as the subterranean depths of coastal communities.

It's the kind of place that Kuroko appreciates because it can be hard to find serenity when you live near one of the world's largest metropolitan areas. Having the ability to turn off his presence certainly offers more than a handful of advantages but playing the part of an invisible man doesn't come with the benefit of ousting those around him. And while Kuroko is as amiable as he is square shooting, the constant hustle and bustle of the industrious city life is enough to set even him on edge at times.

Kuroko sits on the edge of a snow-damp log that rests at a crooked angle near the edge of an abandoned koi pond. He imagines the brightly colored fish swimming contentedly beneath the waxy-coated leaves of water lilies, their tails cutting through crystal water the way they had when he was still a child. Now, however, the pond is dirty and frozen, ruling out any chance of visible discovery should any life forms have prevailed the wintry conditions beyond the stretches of his worn sneakers.

Kuroko knows that like most things he's looking for when he comes to this park, there's nothing to be found—but knowing doesn't stop the ache that lances through his heart in the razor-edged shape of anguish.

He curls his fingers into the jacket that once belonged to someone else and hugs it close to his body in an attempt to shield himself from the slow-creeping sadness that cuts through him sharper than the winter wind. Still, he shivers, and his focus shifts to track the motion down the entire length of his spine, but he knows that the involuntary shake has nothing to do with the cold. He inhales a breath that burns up in his lungs, then exhales slowly, watching the visible warmth of respiration dissolve on the breeze as it turns over to a sigh.

Seasons change but the past continues to nip at his soul and he's starting to wonder if he's only meant to be happy when he's sad. He's starting to think that setting fire to the bridges he needs to burn won't be enough to thaw the thin haze hung about him, heavy with rime. He thinks back to a time where skinned knees were commonplace and his heart wasn't frozen deep in the snow. A time when ice cream and idle chatter and warm sunsets spelled innocence and equated true happiness. A time when so little meant so much.

But those days seem so long ago now, like relics lost in the sands of time, left to wither and rot. Back then, his friends were still on good terms with each other, basketball never ceased to be the highlight of his day, and his best friend, inspiration, and idol still remembered what it was to be himself. Now, Kuroko's life feels like a faded jigsaw puzzle that's been slowly broken apart piece by piece without the possibility of ever fitting back together again.

He used to think that he was wholly self-reliant, that he could take care of himself without necessitating the help of others—and maybe he was—but presently, he feels like he can't jump without falling. He feels like a sinking ship when he used to be a shooting star, a ghost aboard an empty vessel with a broken bow and a somatic illness despite the lack of a physical body. He feels lost and alone, thrown into the cosmos and left to chart the constellations without a map.

He never wanted to know what it meant to need someone, and yet, he built the friendship that changed his life on a gamble that he was guaranteed to lose. Aomine was once his light, his compass, his support; the one who he counted on to have his back even when tomorrow promised new tears. He realized, too late, that the compass needle he had been following never consented to be his guide. But even now, with the knowledge that he had been unknowingly waiting for reciprocation that he didn't quite understand then, he can't help but chase after what he feels he's lost. He knows it's foolish and that he wouldn't know what to do if he found whatever it is that he's seeking, only that if he did, maybe things could go back to the way they were.

But he knows that he's lying to himself. He knows that his soul has been cut and that he's been doing nothing to stem the flow of blood that's suffocating his heart. More importantly, he knows that it's useless to dwell on the past, yet, he continues to wish for just one more minute with the boy who filled his heart with promise and hope.

He watches the sun disappear behind a heavy cloud and thinks about how dark his days have become—but there's one ray of light that's slipped through the cracks in his timeline and taken the shape of a truth he can't ignore. He can feel it biting, blistering, breaking beneath his skin because he _knows_ that it's too late to go back.

It's his most constant mistake and looking back he probably should have known—he has never deduced what people mean to him until they're already gone.

Kuroko cups his hands over his face and breathes against his pale fingers to ward off the cold biting at his skin like it's thirsty for blood and picking a fight. Only three months ago, Aomine was sitting here by his side, making jokes while tossing stones into the air or whipping pebbles aimlessly through the trees. If not here, they'd be sitting at a withering picnic table some twenty feet away while Aomine devoured a large number of cheeseburgers and Kuroko sipped on a vanilla shake. Kuroko would chide Aomine for talking with his mouth full and Aomine would simply toss him a burger as if in recompense for his bad manners. It took weeks for Kuroko to link the days Aomine bought fries for them to share to the afternoons he did particularly well in practice.

Back then, it was a small gesture that warmed Kuroko's heart; now, it feels big enough to burn him alive.

He and Aomine came to this park on countless occasions, methodically leaving their footprints in the dirt and their fingerprints in the sand. Before now, it was a place for comradery and respite and making memories. Kuroko never imagined it could feel so uninviting, which raises the question: why did he come to this specific park on a day like today? A day when most of the Miracles were surely tucked away inside of their homes, preoccupied with much healthier enterprises when compared to this act of self-destruction.

The answer isn't buried as far back in his mind as he'd like it to be. The explanation is right behind his eyes but he refuses to _see_ it for what it is. Instead, he pretends to be blind and turns his back on the reality of the situation because it slows the veracious poison slipping through his veins.

Nevertheless, things aren't as simple as he longs for them to be. He can't do away with the pain he carries with him, the weight he can no longer lift; the understanding that he and Aomine have parted ways.

So he walks around the park, kicking stones at trees while his head grows heavy with thoughts of his past. Memories play like a film reel laid out in front of him, a recollection that aches like a fresh tattoo carved too-deep into his skin. He pulls himself out from the inside and lets his consciousness bleed across his wrist like a voiceless stutter. A particular image unfolds before him and he thinks that this is one of those things that he should have seen coming, and maybe another that he did, but he knew that they couldn't make it as a team. Even when things were at their best, he found himself wondering if they could iron out the wrinkles in their friendship with how much they contrasted on everything beyond the bounds of basketball. He thought, when things got bad, that separating for a while could only help; and while he didn't want to be apart from his best friend, he held onto the fact that it didn't mean they would never see each other again.

Of course, Aomine being who he is had to be different—always an exception to every rule.

It took Kuroko nearly a week to make the connection, which in hindsight, is one of the things that frustrates him the most. What's more, he wasn't alone in the way he felt, and while that should have been comforting, it wasn't. It sparked something unfamiliar and ugly inside of him that made him feel weak and confused. Losing Aomine and concurrently learning that Kise shared his feelings for the Teikō ace was like dragging coke over a bundle of raw nerve endings.

Now that he looks at it in retrospect, it's easy to see. There's something magnetic about the boy with sapphire eyes and midnight blue hair that draws people to him. He has that _spark_ , the kind of energy that lights up a room. His smile is like coming home and when he's happy, _truly_ happy, he's like eternal summer.

Kuroko wishes that he could still feel that warmth, if only for a second.

He's grown used to the rumors, the rampant whispers of suggestion that have spread around him like wildfire—but the fabrication that always burns the brightest is that Kuroko doesn't have feelings. He once heard someone say that he was as empty on the inside as he was invisible on the outside. But he _can_ feel despite his inability or want to express emotion in the way society has deemed normal. He isn't detached from reality, he isn't delusional or insensitive. Though he wishes at times he was because then maybe this wouldn't hurt so bad. If he could shut off his emotions and anesthetize the pain, he wouldn't have to climb through these trenches with only a bullet and a bet.

He remembers when he thought it would be easier to become one with the snow, but now he's so scared to melt that he's been avoiding warmth. It frightens him, to be so deep in the woods, so he admonishes himself for being selfish until he has to sink the points of his teeth into his tongue to keep the tears collecting along the lines of his lashes from falling. Except, the pain isn't enough to stave off his emotions and the silence isn't cutting it, but the winter wind has him shaking like a leaf and there's no space in his throat for the words that scrape like frost against his lungs.

Kuroko falls to his knees and etches an abstract design into the powder-white snow that glistens untouched in front of his feet. He knows that it won't be long before he'll be moving on to a new school and he hopes the truth that he can not afford will no longer rest like a placeholder on his heart—and maybe, just _maybe_ , the faces that never leave his thoughts will no longer taste like heartbreak on his tongue.

A twig cracks not far off in the distance and Kuroko jumps to his feet and simultaneously turns around so quickly that he nearly trips over his own feet. His fingers are numb and aching with cold as he tightens his hand into a fist, not for a fight but in all but forgotten optimism. His heart thrums thunderously in his chest as he scans the perimeter of the park with rapt attention, his eyes searching twice as hard as his ears are listening.

Every muscle in his body grows tense as he freezes on the spot, a broken breath spilling past his lips and into a startled gasp that gets swept away by the wind. Aomine is standing on the opposite side of the park, his smile brighter than the sun that has abandoned the day, warm enough to melt the snow clinging to Kuroko's shoes and dry his freshly dampened knees. It imbues him with promise, fills his heart with a glow white enough to thaw the chill that's turned the blood in his veins to ice.

A new line of moisture forms along Kuroko's lashes as the breeze stings the bright blue of his unblinking gaze. He swallows thickly but there's little moisture left on his tongue. He attempts to pull Aomine's silhouette into clarity but he's quick to lose the battle, and as soon as he blinks, the image is gone, swept away as artlessly as the dead leaves that litter the frost-bitten topsoil.

Kuroko nearly chokes on the hard lump that forms in the dark of his throat. His hands are shaking as he fights to ease the tension turning his knuckles as white as untrodden snow, and the air around him begins to feel like a cage. He looks down at the space before his feet, sniffling in defeat when he realizes the shape he inscribed on the frozen vapor closely resembles the letter A.

He closes his eyes and wishes for tomorrow, but all he can see are visions of his past. He pushes through the impulse to suffocate beneath a wave of disappointment and closes his fist tighter in the name of determination as he sets off in the direction of his home.

Anguish has already chilled him to the bone but he refuses to let his despondency harden his heart.

That winter goes down as the coldest Tokyo season to date, and it isn't until spring rolls in that the ice covering the pond thaws, melting down enough to reveal a pool of murky water and yesteryear's decay. The park looks abandoned save for a single fast-food wrapper that lies in a crumpled heap next to a crooked log and a few small footprints in the dirt, should one look hard enough, but the boy they once belonged to is nowhere to be found.

The shifting of seasons is notorious for bearing change even when there isn't a single soul to witness it—but there are some things that can't be overlooked, one being that the days grow just a little bit longer and the nights come just a little bit later.

And to a shadow, it's just enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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